


For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you

by wildxwired



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, GallaHitched, Husbands, It was late and I had feelings, M/M, Post season/series ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildxwired/pseuds/wildxwired
Summary: In these moments, these silent slices of stillness, Ian feels peaceful. He feels quiet and content, protected and protective. Safe. He feels like a husband.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 42
Kudos: 254





	For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote one night when I was very very high and had a lot of feelings about the boys being married. 
> 
> It’s also a little apology to the readers of Last of a dying breed, as it’s going to be a little bit of a wait until I can update as I’m moving house all week! 
> 
> Title from Walt Whitman’s poem Song of Myself

A decade. 

That’s how long Ian Gallagher has been in love with Mickey Milkovich. A decade of hurt, heartbreak and bruises, of stolen moments and intense moments and life changing moments. 

Mickey’s been under his skin and running through his veins, present in his very DNA every day since he was fifteen. 

Ian still wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes and is momentarily surprised that there’s another person in his bed, but then he remembers, and it all comes flooding back like the most amazing dream he can’t wait to slip back into. 

Because who would have thought, through all the blood and heartache, every step through broken glass and barbed wire, that they all lived happily ever after? 

Ian often curls himself around Mickey and kisses his bare shoulder, whispering an unheard _I love you_ in hopes it sweetens Mickey’s dreams. 

In these moments, these silent slices of stillness, Ian feels peaceful. He feels quiet and content, protected and protective. Safe. He feels like a husband. 

They still fuck like they’re waiting for it all to end. 

They still fuck like their time is limited, revelling in present pleasure until it drowns them, because that’s all they’ve ever really had. 

Even when they take it slow, when Ian sinks into Mickey face to face at a glacial pace and rolls his hips over and over, the same steady pace and an unwavering constant pressure, until Mickey is practically mewling and begging to be torn apart — even then there’s an almost nervous energy vibrating between them. 

There’s a time when Ian thinks they should talk about it and even maybe work on it, like if they burn so hot all the time they’ll end up burnt out. Like maybe this kind of fire isn’t supposed to be sustainable.

But then one night, when they’re both a little tipsy from an impromptu Gallagher party, Mickey unknowingly makes it all so clear. 

Ian’s got Mickey backed onto a dresser, half naked and rutting helplessly as Ian kisses his husband with everything he has, thumbs digging into his cheeks and erection digging into his thigh. 

“Love you so fucking much, Mick,” Ian groans as they tug and pull at the remaining clothes between them. 

Mickey smiles, dark lashes soft on his pale cheeks like coal on snow. He blindly runs his hands over Ian’s back, sides and shoulders, as if reaffirming the map of Ian’s body. 

“How’d I ever live without those words, huh?” Mickey murmurs, leaning close to ghost his lips over Ian’s warm cheek. These days, Mickey often gets a little _schmoopy_ when he’s drunk. It’s one of their many marital secrets, little quirks just for each other. 

Ian buries his face into Mickey’s neck, pausing his journey to fumble for the lube to slide their cocks together, just to hear Mickey moan. 

“How’d I ever live without this?” Mickey wraps his fingers around Ian’s cock but does nothing more than hold it, squeezes gently and looks at Ian with blown pupils. 

“Fuck,” Ian breathes, because even a feather light touch from Mickey is like pop rocks beneath his skin. 

“Or this…” Mickey says, hand releasing Ian’s cock and sliding to rest over his heart. 

Their eyes meet and for a sudden moment, Ian can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t _anything_ but feel the soft pressure of Mickey’s hand against his chest. Sometimes Ian’s sure Mickey is the only thing keeping Ian grounded, like his own personal gravity. 

Ian kisses him then, long and slow and sloppy, just the way he knows tipsy Mickey secretly loves. 

“Never again,” Ian whispers on the pullback, lips only just touching. “Always be mine.”

“Always have been,” Mickey smirks, locking his legs around Ian’s waist when Ian grabs Mickey by the backs of his thighs and hoists him off the dresser. 

Mickey laughs and pulls Ian’s mouth back to him for a brief and biting kiss that splinters off beneath their giggles, before Ian deposits him onto the mattress with a smirk. 

They coil around each other as they fuck, connected in every way as Ian thrusts quickly into Mickey’s tight heat. Mickey grabs sharply at Ian’s shoulders when he hits that sweet spot, praising _fuck me so good_ and begging _don’t stop, right there_ over and over until the words become incoherent. 

And it’s when Ian’s watching Mickey come, —head thrown back and eyes snapping open, sparkling like shattered glass in the moonlight, a glittering clash of violeny and beauty— that he realises why they still fuck like the world is ending. 

It’s because they _know_ , in explicitly painful detail, what it feels like to lose each other. They know how precious this is and what they’ve been through to be able to have it. They know that fairytales don’t exist and that happiness isn’t an ending. They know how filthy love can be. 

What’s the saying? You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone. Well. They’ve learned that lesson; over and over and once more for luck. 

So they fucking _appreciate_ each other. How lucky they are to have this. How close they came to finality. Ten years of blood, sweat and tears in the making. This marriage is the result of their life’s work and Ian just _knows_ it’ll be his greatest masterpiece. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s forearm and presses it to the mattress so he can link their fingers together. Mickey’s wedding ring digs into Ian’s skin and he swears that’s the thing that finally makes him come. He strokes Mickey to completion, whispering praises and soft demands until Mickey shakes apart. 

They sleep coiled close, even closer than when they fuck. It’s the only way Mickey can sleep and not wake up like he’s just come-to in a war zone. Another marital secret. 

“Hey, Ian?” Mickey mumbles into Ian’s chest, speech slightly slurred by the slow descent into sleep. “I fuckin’ love you, y’know.”

Ian smiles, hand stroking down the small of Mickey’s back as he listens to his husband’s steady breathing. 

He knows. In fact, he never had a doubt.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on...  
> Tumblr: wildxwired  
> Twitter: wildxwiredsays


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